


Not My Brother

by WinJennster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 12,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinJennster/pseuds/WinJennster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's really starting to regret selling his soul. (Post All Hell Breaks Loose)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happens, Dean is so shocked, so bewildered, so hurt, all he can do after is drag himself to the bathroom and get in the shower. He slides down the tub wall behind him until he is actually sitting in the tub, the warm water running over his head. The water beneath him is pink with his own blood, among other things.

He feels split in half. He’s hurting, in incredible pain. It isn’t just the physical ache, it’s the emotional upheaval of knowing who did this to him. It’s the knowledge that that person felt no remorse whatsoever and is now snoring peacefully on the left hand bed in the seedy motel room they’d taken for the night.

That wasn’t his Sam. His Sam would have never done this to him.

Dean studies the marks on his wrists where he’d been held down. He can’t pull his eyes away. He feels the sobs start deep within him, but by the time they bubble to the surface, he’s managed to force them into something more like a whimper. He doesn’t want Sam to hear, doesn’t want him to wake up and do it again.

He thinks about running. Grabbing his gun and keys and making a run for the Impala. He could go to Bobby’s. Bobby would hide him. He’s afraid though. Sam could hurt Bobby. He’s sure of it. 

When Sam was holding him down, Dean knew he was strong enough to fight him off. Then suddenly he wasn’t. It wasn’t physical weakness though, it was something more. Something in his head. 

Dean recognizes it for what it was and his stomach lurches.

It was Sam’s power. He used his power on Dean. He gave his own brother a mental roofie. 

Tears roll down Dean’s cheeks as he suddenly realizes there is nowhere in this world he can run. 

Sam will find him every time.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning when Dean woke, Sam was sitting at the table doing something on his laptop. He looked over at Dean and smiled, and gestured to a cup of coffee on the night stand. Dean picked it up and gratefully took a sip. For a moment, Dean could pretend nothing had happened. Everything seemed normal this morning. Then he got up to go to the bathroom. 

There was crusted blood in his boxers and he was still sore as hell. Dean fought the urge to just climb into the shower and cry. Sam was obviously going for normal this morning, he guessed he’d better as well. He sure as hell didn’t want to make Sam angry.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Dean didn’t like what he saw. His eyes were bloodshot, and the circles he always seemed to carry under his eyes had deepened even more. He felt like he’d aged a hundred years in the course of one night.  
It made him angry that he’d been that easy to subdue and control. Dean wasn’t a pushover. He wasn’t weak. But Sam had gotten inside his head and brought him down. 

“Dammit.” 

Dean slammed his fist on the vanity, frustration filling every part of him. This would not happen again. He would not be Sam’s victim again. He’d find a way to resist, a way to fight back. 

No matter what.  
…  
It didn’t last. 

Two days later, he was laying on the floor of the bathroom in the latest motel room, having just finished throwing up what felt like everything he’d eaten that day. Sam hadn't even given him a chance to attempt to resist this time. He'd just wormed his way into his mind until Dean forgot his own name.

Dean’s stomach lurched again, and his head throbbed with every beat of his pulse. He was developing one hell of a migraine. 

Sam must have a least taken his time this round, because he wasn’t as sore as the first time. 

He hated this. Being the victim was not a role for Dean Winchester.


	3. Chapter 3

The first time he runs, Dean only makes it about 200 miles before Sam is suddenly standing in the road before him, and Dean barely brings the Impala to a stop in time.

Fear chokes him as Sam makes his way around to the car and pulls open the passenger door, sliding gracefully inside. His expression is inscrutable, and he says nothing. Dean stares, waiting for the inevitable blast wave of his brother's anger, but it never comes.

Sam raises his right hand, long index finger pointing to the road ahead and says simply, "Drive." Startled, Dean puts the car in gear and does as he's told.

They drive in silence. An hour passes, and Dean is feeling more and more uncomfortable. Sam stares ahead, unmoving, silent, and completely unreadable, his mouth slightly turned up. Dean's doing his best not to squirm, but the silence is almost unbearable. 

"Pull over here," Sam says suddenly, making Dean flinch. Berating himself for being a total pussy, Dean pulls himself together and stops the car in front of an old ramshackle house. He blinks in confusion.

"Here?"

"Here."

Sam pushes the car door open and gets out. Dean hesitates, feeling like he's a lot safer staying in the car. His brother is freaking him out, and Dean is sure there's going to be a consequence for running and he sure as hell doesn't want to know what it is.

"Now Dean," Sam orders, and Dean pulls himself from the car. He makes his way around to the other side, where Sam is standing, watching him. Dean's skin crawls under Sam's scrutiny.

"What are we doing here?"

"Hmm. Not important. Get in the house." Dean hesitates.

He feels it begin. The little tickle in the back of his head. The little voice that doesn't speak with words. His feet are moving forward, even though he doesn't want them to, and he's up the stairs and into the house before he can even catch his breath.  
Sam follows him in, and puts his hands on Dean's shoulders.

"I can't have you running off like that. It's not nice at all, you know, to make me worry about you. Make me wonder if you're alright. I'm trying to get you out of your deal. You run off like that, it makes me look foolish to the people I'm negotiating with." Sam's arms slip lower down Dean's body, and he pulls him close, his chest against Dean's back, and he wraps his powerful arms tight around Dean's waist. His breath is hot in Dean's ear. "And to make sure it doesn't happen again…"

His voice trails off, and he turns Dean in his arms, still keeping a very firm hold on him.

"…I'm just going to have to teach you a lesson."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam puts him back in the car, every muscle and joint in his body screaming in protest. He was dizzy, and barely conscious, but Dean was determined to hang on, to not let himself slip under.

There was blood all over him, but he didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore. Apparently, Sam had the power to tear him to shreds, then put him right back together again. 

The pain, however, didn’t go away. 

Dean could still feel the burn of the wounds, even though Sam had healed them. His brother had spent hours torturing him, demanding that Dean promise he wouldn’t run again, and finally, the pain too intense to bear, Dean had agreed, and then to his horror, _begged_ Sam to stop. 

_Is this what rock bottom feels like? It must be_ , Dean thought, _because I don’t think I could feel any lower._

Sam started the Impala, letting her sit and idle for a moment before turning to Dean. He cupped his chin in his hand, running his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip. 

“No more running. Are we clear? I don’t want to have to hurt you like this again.” Dean closed his eyes, and tried to turn away from Sam. The hand on his chin tightened its grip, and Sam forced him to turn back to face him. “Are we _clear_ , Dean?”

Dean nodded.

“Not good enough. I want to hear you say it.” Increasing the grip on Dean’s chin a little more, Sam tilted his head up, forcing Dean to look at him. “Are. We. Clear?”

“Yes.” Dean rasped. 

“Yes, what?” 

“I…I won’t…I won’t…run…I won’t run. We’re clear.”  

“Good.” Sam slipped the car into gear, and pulled away from the house. 

“Sammy?”

“Yes?” 

“Why are you doing this?” Dean’s voice breaks, and the damn tears start rolling down his cheeks. Sam continues staring out the windshield at the road. He says nothing. “Sammy?”

Nothing.

“Sammy. Please. I don’t understand…”

“Sleep, Dean.” It’s more than a suggestion, and Dean’s eyes shut, and he’s gone.

…

 

He wakes in another motel room, no idea where they are now. Sam’s at the table, typing away on his laptop. Dean wants to get up, grab the Impala keys, and run again. If Sam’s realized he’s awake, he isn’t acknowledging it.

Dean pulls himself to a sitting position, and his body screams in protest. 

Every last inch of him hurts. 

He hates the way he’s feeling, like he wants to give up, or cry, and he thinks to himself about how he’s going to hell because he saved the man sitting across from him. Dean sold his soul to bring his baby brother back from the dead. Azazel was right. What he got back is not 100% pure Sam. He’s something different. 

Horrible. 

Evil.

And the only way out of this situation, Dean realizes, is death. 

He has to kill him. He has to kill Sam.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean stands next to the Impala, waiting for Sam to unlock the door and let him in. He’s been stripped of all his weapons, and is not allowed access to them or the keys to his car. Sam’s treating him like an untrustworthy child. It’s like he knows what Dean has been planning, and has taken pains to make sure it’s not something Dean will be able to easily carry out.

Come to think of, Sam probably _does_ know what Dean’s been planning.

Sam comes out of the motel, pulling the door shut behind him, and runs his hand across the small of Dean’s back. Holding the door open, he smiles at his brother as Dean gets in, but Dean can’t find it in him to smile back. Sam has him on edge.

He starts to feel like an opportunity is coming, a chance for him to carry out his plan, and it’s like his brain will skip. He’ll forget what he was about to do, and will stand there, completely bewildered, until Sam gives him an order, and he can suddenly move his feet again.

Sam is rewriting Dean’s brain, and even with the realization that it’s happening, Dean finds himself powerless to do anything about it.

This is what is bugging Dean the most. He’s used to being self-sufficient. He remembers that he used to be an unshakable badass motherfucker of a hunter.

He’s just a shadow now, Sam’s shadow. He’s skittish, like a kicked puppy, waiting in fear for the next blow. He’s paranoid, more than he ever was before. He doesn’t trust his own thoughts, because he’s losing the ability to discern the difference between what he really thinks and what Sam has planted in his brain.

Dean knows he had a plan. He had figured something out, a way to get out of this situation. A way to stop being a toy for his brother’s amusement. He can’t remember now. It’s like that part of his brain has been completely wiped.

Sam does as he pleases, sometimes being sweet and accommodating towards Dean, other times being cruel and abusive. And Dean never knows what it’s going to be until the situation presents itself.

It’s been nearly a month since Sam beat the shit out of him in the old house, and Dean is starting to feel like hell would be better than living life like this, although Sam is still insisting that he’s going to get Dean out of the deal.

The Impala roars to life, and Sam shifts her into drive and pulls out of the lot. He puts on some craptastic music Dean would have never allowed, but it’s not like he gives a flying fuck what Dean wants.

Hell, he’s not even allowed to drive anymore.

Dean doesn’t bother asking where they are going.

He doesn’t care. He reached a stage of apathy that he didn’t even know he was capable of. Dean feels like a spectator in his own life.

But he has a plan. A plan to end this, a plan to get his life back.

If only he could remember what it is.


	6. Chapter 6

So this is what they do now. Move from place to place, with no purpose that Dean can see.

Sometimes he’s awake for the drive, sometimes Sam puts him out. He’s endured long, inexplicable stretches of unconsciousness. He never knows where they are going until they get there. Then Sam will lock him in somewhere, and disappear for hours doing god knows what.

It’s during these times that Dean will try and convince himself to run, but his plans never flesh out. It’s like he doesn’t even know how to get started.

Then Sam will come back, and do as he pleases with Dean’s body, never stopping for a moment to concern himself with what Dean wants.

Sam is slowly, but surely, erasing everything about Dean that makes Dean _“Dean”._ His music was the first thing to go. It’s been months since anything more than five or six years old has been heard in his car.( Which Dean has to keep reminding himself is still _his_ car.) His regular haircuts were the next thing to go. It’s been several months since he last had one, and he hates this shaggy dog look Sam seems to prefer for him.

Next was the alcohol. He can’t even remember the last time he had so much as a sip of beer, never mind anything harder than that. Hell, Sam won’t even let him have soda or even his beloved black coffee anymore. It’s all water, skim milk, or 100% juice for him now.

And the food.

That should have been the last straw. When burgers, fries, and pie were replaced by salads, apples, and bananas. It’s driving him nuts, this complete loss of control over even simple things like what he’s going to have for lunch.

He stabs at the lettuce on his plate with barely hidden disdain, hoping Sam won’t notice that he isn’t eating again, and wishes he could at least have a little bacon in there with all the veggies and light dressing. Dean can’t even figure out why Sam insisted on putting him on a diet, unless it’s because Sam doesn’t let him do anything but sit in the car and the motel rooms, so he definitely isn’t getting the exercise that used to keep him thin no matter what he ate.

Sam turns a page in the newspaper he is reading, and Dean stares at the front page, trying to read the date since he has absolutely no idea what time of the year it is. He’s fairly sure they are in the southwest somewhere, so it’s not like the weather provides a clue.

His jaw drops when he sees it.

June 18, 2008.

His deal came due more than a month previous.

Folding the paper closed, Sam takes in the shocked look on Dean’s face. Dean feels the familiar tickle in the back of his head, and Sam smiles at his brother, a look of satisfaction on his face.

“That’s right. I got you out of the deal. You’re mine now. Completely. Now eat your lunch.” Sam goes back to the paper, leaving him to his thoughts and Dean’s hand moves his fork and he starts eating again, even though he really, really doesn’t want to.

So this is it then. He’s Sam’s. There’s no way out now and Dean knows it.       


	7. Chapter 7

Dean slips into a deep depression that even Sam can’t force him out of. He takes a perverse pleasure in being miserable when he realizes that no amount of Sam’s Jedi mind tricks will snap him out of it. He stops resisting everything Sam does to him. He stops resisting the food Sam puts before him. He stops resisting Sam’s forced affections.

If he could resist breathing, he would.

It gets worse over the summer, when Sam becomes determined to make things in the bedroom “good” for Dean too. Dean refuses to do more than just lie there and take whatever Sam is doing, and the depression is so strong, his body won’t cooperate with any of the things Sam does to “please” him anyway.

Sam’s frustration with Dean leads to more beatings, and Dean just takes them. He doesn’t scream, he doesn’t beg, he takes it until the pain makes him pass out, or Sam gives up and walks away.

Bobby calls, he needs some help with some research. Sam can’t come up with a good enough excuse not to go, but he makes it a point to instruct Dean not to say anything to Bobby…or else. Dean knows he isn’t threatening him. He’s threatening Bobby. Dean knows the way Sam is now, he wouldn’t feel a thing if he had to kill Bobby to prevent him from helping Dean.

The whole way to Sioux Falls, Dean stares out the window of what used to be his car, listening to the crap that’s replaced his beloved Zeppelin and Metallica, feeling his stomach toss fitfully, scared of what’s going to happen when Bobby sees him. He’s lost weight, not just because of what Sam makes him eat, but also because most of the time, he can’t keep it down.

Bobby knows him better than just about anybody, and Dean doesn’t think he has it in him to act normal. He’s got to try and find it though; he can’t let Sam hurt Bobby.

“Stop fidgeting, Dean. Why don’t you sleep?” Damn Sam and his commands, Dean’s eye lids flutter closed and he’s out cold.

…

He wakes just outside of Sioux Falls with a terrible migraine. The morning sun is killing his eyes, and he’s pretty sure vomiting is in the very near future. Sam is listening to NPR of all things, some crap about the Japanese Yen. It’s extreme geekboyitis, and not that long ago, Dean would have been amused and given Sam some good-natured harassment about it.

Sadness at what used to be takes Dean’s breath away. He misses his brother so badly. This guy sitting next to him? He may have Sam’s body, face, voice, and ridiculous hair, but he is _not_ Sam. Sam died at Cold Oak, and Dean wishes he had just been strong enough to let him go, to move on, and deal with the loss of his brother like normal people do.

Sam’s going to end him. Maybe he won’t kill him, but it’s just a matter of time until he crushes what little is left of Dean. And Dean’s just going to let it happen.

It’s just a matter of time.


	8. Chapter 8

Bobby hears the Impala pull in and smiles, and heads out to the porch to greet his boys. They’ve been traveling in separate circles lately, and he hasn’t seen them since about a month after Dean killed Yellow Eyes and that was about a year ago. He’d heard through the grapevine that Sam had managed to get Dean out of the deal, and he’s anxious to find out how.

He’s a little surprised to see Sam driving Dean’s precious Baby, but when Dean gets out of the car, Bobby’s jaw hits the ground.

Dean’s thin. Really thin. He was never heavy, always well-muscled, and between 180-185 pounds, a perfectly respectable weight for a 6’1” man. Now, he looks like he doesn’t weigh more than 110 pounds soaking wet. All his muscle tone is gone, there are heavy shadows under his eyes, his hair is ridiculously long, like Sam’s, and his face is gaunt, his cheeks hollow. He looks sick, he looks like he’s…dying.

And then there’s Sam. If there’s less of Dean, there seems to be more of Sam. His shoulders seem broader, his chest wider, his arms thicker. He’s wearing a stormy look and watching Dean like a hawk. Every move Dean makes getting out of the car is observed with something Bobby can only describe as obsession.

Something is going on with these two, just Bobby can’t put his finger on it. Dean seems to be waiting on Sam to make any kind of move towards the house, and Sam seems to expect him to wait. Everything about them screams that something is wrong, and the first thing Bobby’s going to do is try and get Dean alone and talk to him.

Turning his chin up towards the porch, Dean tries for his standard, devil-may-care, cocky grin, but it just comes out looking like a pained grimace.

“Hey Bobby,” he says quietly, and Bobby just wants to run off the porch and pull him into his arms. He’s never seen such a lost look on Dean’s face.

“Hey, son. How you boys doing?” He tries for a friendly tone, instinctively knowing that he doesn’t want to set Sam off. Sam is looking more and more like a dangerous animal, his body coiled tightly, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“We’re fine, Bobby. Go on in the house, Dean. I’ll grab the bags.” Dean startles at Sam’s command, and Bobby’s heart sinks. He’s never seen him like this before, and he’s worried. Dean moves slowly, like he’s in pain, and makes his way up the steps. When he reaches the top, Bobby does hug him, but he can feel the tension his embrace causes in the boy’s body and he quickly releases him, leaving a hand on his shoulder, peering into the depths of dull green eyes.

“You ok, kid?” he asks very quietly, and Dean nods, refusing to meet Bobby’s eyes.

“Yeah. We’ve been busy. I’m fine.” Bobby can tell he’s lying, but Dean looks so worn out he doesn’t have the heart to call him out on it. Something is definitely wrong and Bobby silently vows he will keep them here long enough to figure it out.

He owes Dean that much.


	9. Chapter 9

The tension in the house is palpable, as Sam works the research side of things and Dean avoids being alone with Bobby. Bobby’s attempts to press Sam for information about his brother’s health is brushed off with the excuse that they’ve been busy and that Dean had a bad brush with the flu.

Bobby ain’t stupid though, and he’s starting to realize that Sam is not the Sam he remembers. He’s cold, and mercurial, he watches Dean constantly, and no matter how hard Bobby tries to get Dean alone, Sam is always there.

He’s made several of Dean’s favorite foods, and anytime he puts something in front of the kid, he’s upset to see Dean look at Sam before having a bite, a clear “is this ok?” in his expression. Even when Sam nods, Dean can’t seem to get the food down, usually managing just a bite or two before giving up and simply pushing whatever it is around his plate.

Dean sleeps a lot, either passed out in one of the twin beds in the room the boys share, or zonked on the couch. When he’s awake, he’s skittish, and very quiet. Bobby tries to lure him outside alone, under the guise of giving the Impala a tune-up, when Sam produces a receipt showing that he’s just had it done, and using the “Dean’s been ill” excuse as the reason for taking it to a mechanic.

After the boys go upstairs for the night, Bobby goes down to the panic room, and starts making calls to Rufus, Ellen, Joshua, and several other hunters that work with him or owe him favors. He knows he needs to get Dean the hell away from Sam, and he knows he’s going to need help to do it. He doesn’t doubt for a minute that Sam would kill him without a second thought. They’re all willing to come, Ellen is packing her car as they speak.

It’s clear to Bobby that Sam came back from the dead…wrong.

Bobby is back upstairs in the kitchen when he hears the sound of retching coming from the downstairs bathroom. He knows it’s Dean, so he makes his way down the hall to find him on his knees in front of the toilet, his face covered in sweat, his arms wrapped around his belly.

From the looks of things, he’s been dry-heaving, and Bobby grabs a washcloth and soaks it in cold water. Dean looks up at him as he’s wringing it out, the expression on his face miserable.

“Thanks, Bobby,” he whispers, his voice wrecked from the vomiting. He gently lays the washcloth on the back of Dean’s neck. Bobby sees an opportunity, Sam’s in bed, maybe he has a chance now.

“What the hell is going on Dean?” Dean shakes his head, fear evident in his eyes, and tells Bobby yet another lie.

“I’m fine, Bobby, I swear, I’m fine.”

“You’re not, Dean! Ya look half dead, you’re letting Sam run the show, and…” There’s a shuffle behind them, and Dean’s face goes completely white in terror.

Bobby knows without even looking that Sam’s standing behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam’s presence seems to take all the air out of the small bathroom, and Dean’s freaking out. Bobby stands, puts himself between Dean and Sam. Sam’s eyes are dark with anger.

“Bobby. I’ll take care of Dean. Go back to bed,” Sam growls, but Bobby stands his ground.

“I have it under control, Sam. Why don’t you head back to bed?” Sam steps farther into the bathroom, right into Bobby’s face. Bobby stands his ground, makes no move to allow Sam anywhere near Dean.

“I said I would handle it.”

“And I said I have it under control. You aren’t needed at the moment, Sam.” Sam draws himself up to his full height, but Bobby continues to stand his ground. He will not be cowed by the same little shit he’s known since he was a snot-nosed kid in Superman Underoos.

“Bobby, this is not something you want to get involved in. Back off.”

“I think you underestimate me, Sam. Dean’s hurting and you’re the cause. You think I can just walk away from that, you have another think coming!”

“Don’t get involved, old man.”

“Too late for that kid, I’m already involved. You aren’t gonna keep doing whatever you’re doing to him.”

“Really, and who’s gonna stop me? You, old man? Like to see you try.”

“Guys, stop, please…” Dean’s pulled himself to his feet and is working his way between Sam and Bobby. “It’s ok, really…”

“No, Dean! It’s not ok! I am not going to keep letting him do this to you!”

“It’s none of your fuckin’ business!” Sam growls. Dean puts his hands up, inserting himself bodily between Sam and Bobby.

“Sam, Sammy, it’s ok, it’s ok, please…”

“Dean!”

“No, Bobby, it’s ok, I’m fine, I’m fine, everything’s ok! Ok, Sam? Everything’s ok…” Dean’s babbling, doing his best to get Sam back out of the bathroom. “C’mon, Sammy, let’s just go, ok, grab our stuff and go, come on.” Dean grabs Sam’s arm, pulling him out of the bathroom. Sam casts one last warning glare at Bobby before following Dean.

Bobby hears them go upstairs, and there are more shuffles and noises, and he knows they are packing. He’s running out of time.

He grabs a shotgun, and loads it, and makes his way back into the living room just as the boys come thundering down the stairs.

Bobby hefts the gun and aims it at Sam.

“I’m not letting you leave with him, Sam.” Dean’s eyes go wide, and Sam’s glitter dangerously.

“Gonna shoot me, Bobby? Really?”

“If that’s what it takes. You aren’t taking him, boy.” Dean’s shaking, trying to hide the fear in his eyes, and Bobby suddenly realizes Dean isn’t afraid Sam’s going to hurt him, he’s afraid Sam will hurt Bobby. He grabs Sam’s arm, and starts pulling him towards the front door.

“Come on, Sam. Let’s just go. Bobby, it’s ok, we’re just going to go.”

“No, Dean, Bobby doesn’t want you to leave.” Sam’s voice is cold and quiet, and Dean cringes. Sam turns to Dean, and Bobby watches as Dean shrinks away from Sam’s intensity. “So, Dean, are you staying with Bobby, or coming with me?”

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Dean! You don’t have to go with him!” Bobby is following the boys through his house, trying desperately to get Dean to stay there with him.

Dean keeps moving. Sam may have offered him the choice between going and staying, but Bobby knows Sam expects Dean to come with him. And Dean is too afraid for Bobby’s safety to stay. He’s already out the door before Bobby can blink.

Sam turns back to face Bobby, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“You didn’t really think he’d choose you, did you?” Sam’s voice is liquid, full of calm confidence.

“You’re threatening me to keep him under your thumb? Charming. You’re not Sam, not our Sam, and if you think I don’t know that…”

“Honestly? I don’t care what you think. I have what I want. He’s waiting in the car for me.” Sam spins on his heel and heads for the front door, and Bobby sees his opportunity sliding away. He cocks the shotgun, and aims at Sam.

“You make another move, boy, and I won’t be aiming for your ass.” Sam slowly pivots back to face Bobby, his face unreadable as he takes in the double-barrel twelve gauge pointed directly at the space between his eyes.

He smiles, cocks an eyebrow,  and the effect is not pleasant. For the first time, Bobby can clearly see the evil in Sam’s eyes. The boy he knows, the one he helped John Winchester raise, is gone.

Bobby feels an odd tickle in the back of his neck, and feels the urge to lower the gun. He does, just slightly, and Sam’s smile grows wider.

“What’s wrong, Bobby? Can’t seal the deal?” Bobby’s eyes widen as he realizes what Sam is doing. His hands lower the gun a little more, and he’s helpless to prevent it.

Then Sam flicks his right hand ever so slightly, and the shotgun is yanked from Bobby’s hands. It flies across the room, discharging into the air as it strikes the wall.

“I warned you not to get involved. Dean’s mine, Bobby.  And you, Ellen, Rufus, and all those other hunters you called aren’t going to be able to do a thing about it. I am stronger than you, I am stronger than anyone. I should kill you now, but I want you around to warn the others. You tell them all. Back off. I will kill anyone who comes anywhere near me and Dean.”

He turns again, and storms out the front door. Bobby takes a second to catch his breath, and hears the roar of the Impala as Sam fires the engine. Bobby rushes for his front door, making it outside just in time to see Dean turn his face up and silently mouth good-bye, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Sam guns the engine, and the car roars out of his drive. Bobby’s heart sinks, those dead green eyes will haunt him for the rest of his life.

He’s sure he’s just seen Dean for the very last time.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam doesn’t give him the easy out of sleep, and Dean spends most of the drive nervously chewing his fingernails, a nasty new habit he’s picked up in the last several months. Sam doesn’t say a word, there’s no music, and Dean can feel the rage radiating off him in waves.

He chose Sam, he did what Sam expected him to do, but it seems he’s still in trouble anyway. At least Bobby’s ok. When the shotgun blast had split the night, Dean’s heart stopped, so sure that Bobby was dead. It had been such a relief to see him standing on the porch.

Sam had pulled out of the salvage yard driving faster than even Dean would have. He found the closest highway and pointed the car west. Dean had no idea where they were headed, and no idea what would happen when they got there, although he was sure it wasn’t going to be anything good.

The end up in some little place, just as the pale light of dawn is starting to form on the horizon, and Dean is dismayed when Sam pulls the Impala up in front of a deserted looking cabin. There’s no one around for miles. No one to notice them, or the car, or Sam’s odd comings and goings.

No one to hear Dean scream.

Sam grabs the bags out of the trunk, and stalks up the one step onto the porch. He opens the door and disappears inside. Dean refuses to leave the car at all. Maybe Sam will forget he’s out here.

The door is yanked open and Sam is dragging him from the car, then shoving him forward into the house. He stumbles over the sill of the front door, and before he can regain his balance, Sam sends him flying with a vicious backhanded slap across his cheek.

“You wanted to stay didn’t you?” he roars, picking Dean up by the lapels of his coat and hitting him in the face again, this time with his fist. Dean feels his lip split, and blood start to flow, as he shakes his head.

“No. No, Sammy, I came with you, I didn’t…I didn’t want to stay. I’m here, I’m here with you!” Sam doesn’t seem to hear, and he’s got his hands on Dean’s belt buckle, working it lose, simultaneously shoving Dean back against a wall.

“I’ll show you…remind you who you belong too…your life’s worthless without me, remember? You’re worthless without me.” Sam gets the belt off and uses it bind Dean’s hands together behind his back. Dean doesn’t resist, he knows it will go worse for him if he does. Sam’s shoving his pants down, and Dean braces himself. This is going to hurt.

Still, he isn’t prepared for just how hard Sam forces himself in, and the entry makes him scream in agony. Sam hits him hard in the back of his head, and Dean sees stars. Sam’s thrusts are angry and punishing, and Dean just wants it to be over. He tries to find a place in his mind to hide, to wait until it’s over, but the pain is just too much.

Then, suddenly it _is_ over, and Sam drops him to the floor, orders him to get cleaned up, and storms out of the cabin, leaving Dean on the floor, his arms still bound behind his back.


	13. Chapter 13

He’s still on the floor, shaking, his heart racing, in so much pain he wishes he would just…he doesn’t even know. Dean tries to regulate his breathing, tries to calm down. He needs to get up off the floor, and get cleaned up, because god only knows how long Sam will be gone, and if he finds him like this…

Dean shudders, and wiggles his hands experimentally. Thankfully, Sam didn’t bind his arms too tightly, and he’s able to get his hands out of the leather. He painfully pulls himself into a sitting position, and its agony, so he gets on his hands and knees instead.

He is able to grab onto a chair, and pull himself the rest of the way up, into a wobbly stand, and he yanks his pants back up, then stumbles into the bathroom.

Like everything else in the cabin, it’s old and worn down, but he’s grateful for the running water at least, cold though it is. Dean splashes a little on his face, and then looks up at the mirror above the sink. There’s a large crack running the entire length, with many other spider webbed cracks running into the other corners of the glass.

He can’t tear his eyes away from his own face. Dean’s cheeks are sunken, his skin pale, there’s a bruise on his cheek, his lip is split, and that damn hair. God, he hates his hair! Hates the way Sam gets his hands all wrapped up in and pulls when he’s…

Shaking the image out of his mind, he studies his reflection in the glass, and a wave of anger sweeps over him. His fist makes contact before he realizes what he is doing, and the glass shatters even more, large chunks of it raining down on the sink.

Picking a large piece up from the pile in the sink, Dean studies it carefully. Ignoring the throb of his bloodied fist, he grabs a chunk of his hair, and runs the sharpest edge of the glass parallel to his scalp, and is pleased when a large piece of hair comes off. He smiles slightly, grips the glass tighter, paying no mind to the cuts it’s making on the inside of his fingers.

It doesn’t take long, and there’s a mess of dirty blonde hair all over the sink, the floor, and his t-shirt. What he can see of his head in the reflection is still a mess though, so he grabs his toiletry bag, and finds the electric shaving razor Sam bought him.

The buzzing sound fills the bath, as he runs the razor over every inch of his scalp. It’s not a super close shave, it leaves Dean with about a quarter inch of hair, but it’s a damn sight better than the mess that was there.

Smiling in satisfaction, he cleans up the mess. Walking through the rest of the small cabin, Dean catches his reflection in another mirror and freezes.

He’s disobeyed.

Sam’s going to destroy him when he sees what Dean’s done.

Dean’s stomach rolls, and he makes it back to the bathroom in time to release a small stream of bile into the toilet.

What was he thinking? The punishment for this will be far worse than just dealing with the hated hairstyle.

Maybe Sam will just kill him this time.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean does everything he can think of to prepare for Sam to come home. He cleans up the living room, righting everything that had been knocked over when Sam threw him across the room. He unpacks their bags, putting their clothes away in the ramshackle dresser. He straightens the bed, takes the sheets and blankets outside and shakes them, then hangs them on the porch rail to pick up the clean scent of the outdoors.

His movements are slow and pained, but he does what he can to get the place looking somewhat habitable. Better to do it now, than to be ordered to do it later, when he’ll be in agony from another inevitable beating.

For the thousandth time, Dean wonders how it got to this point. He wonders how a guy who’s always been strong and independent suddenly becomes a slave to his own brother, with no point to his existence other than being a thing, an object, for his brother to use.

Hopelessness settles in, and he sinks onto the couch, feeling his earlier injuries in every aching joint. Dean runs a hand over his head, reveling in the feel of short hair again, before he remembers what his moment of defiance is going to cost.

Sighing, Dean pulls himself back up to his feet, not knowing how much time he has left before Sam comes back, and heads out to the porch to grab the linens. Moving slowly back to the bedroom, he makes the bed, and he’s so sore, it takes him twenty minutes to get it done.

He’s just pulled the bedspread up over the pillows when he hears the Impala pull in.

For a moment, Dean can’t breathe, and he grabs on to the footboard of the bed for balance.

Sam slams into the house, and Dean hears him dropping things as he makes his way through the living room.

“Dean? Where are you?” he calls, and Dean shudders. He’d give anything to just disappear, to fall through a hole in the floor and let the earth swallow him. Sam’s footsteps are growing closer and Dean braces himself for the incoming shitstorm.

“Dean!” Sam strides angrily into the room, “why didn’t you answer me! What the hell are you doi…” Sam stops dead in his tracks, and he takes in Dean’s hair…or lack thereof.

“What have you done?” he growls, dark eyes glittering dangerously.

“I…I wasn’t thinking. It was driving me nuts, and I…” Dean doesn’t get another word out, Sam’s on him, hitting him everywhere, without finesse, just raining blows down on Dean.

Dean throws his arms over his head, doing his best to protect his already injured face from more injuries, but Sam seems more interested in pummeling his rib cage. He throws Dean across the room, and his shoulder hits the wall, and he swallows a pained groan.

“Who the fuck told you to cut your hair?! I didn’t give you permission!” He grabs Dean’s arm and pulls him roughly to his feet.  Sam draws back his fist and slams it into Dean’s jaw. He does it twice more before Dean is so dizzy, he can’t feel his knees under him. Sam releases him, and Dean slumps wearily to the floor.

Sam turns away, to walk out of the room, but seems to change his mind, and turns back around. He crouches before Dean, reaching out to cup his chin in his hand.

“When are you going to learn Dean? You aren’t getting away from me. You’re mine. I liked your hair the way it was. You’re going to pay for this… _indiscretion_. I have to go fetch some things for your lesson, but when I get back, well, you’re gonna learn what it means to be mine.”

He stands, and storms back out of the room.

Dean watches him go, and everything inside him gives up and dies.


	15. Chapter 15

And once again, he’s dragging himself to the bathroom, in agony, and when he finally gets there, he vomits a thin stream of blood and bile into the toilet. When the dry heaves finally end, Dean leans back against the yellowed tiles in exhaustion.

How much longer? How much longer can his body hold out? How many more beatings can he take? How long until Sam hurts him enough that it does permanent damage? Why won’t Sam just kill him, just end it already?

_If I had access to any kind of weapon, anything at all…_

He doesn’t finish the thought, just grabs on to the sink, and pulls himself up to stand in front of it. He stares at his image in what’s left of the mirror, finding it ironic that his reflection is shattered into pieces, when that’s exactly how he feels.

Dean runs some water into the bowl, soaking a washcloth, and dabbing gently at the tender spot on his jaw, where Sam had hit him hard enough to break the skin. His chest hurts every time he takes a breath, so he’s pretty sure he has a broken rib or two.

Without warning, a sob bubbles up, and Dean sinks to his knees again, his eyes filled with tears, and for the first time in a long time, he lets himself cry. He mourns the man he once was, and the man Sam once was. Dean wishes more than ever it had been him who died at Cold Oak, not Sam. That the deal had never been made in the first place.

If only…he thinks of so many things, things he could have done differently. Dean’s completely lost to his misery, when something glitters behind the toilet, catching his eye.

It’s a piece of mirror glass, and it has blood on it. He’s pretty sure it’s the same piece he used to cut his hair, which means it’s wicked sharp. Dean must have missed it when he was cleaning up.

A way out.

That’s all Dean wants.

This little piece of glass holds so many possibilities. Dean knows he’ll never be strong enough to overpower Sam, but…

_Am I strong enough? Could I do it? It’s a way out, maybe not the best way…but how much longer…I can’t do this much longer…and it’s a way out._

Dean’s thoughts tumble over themselves as he considers this new option.

He can’t kill Sam, there’s no way. But Dean can do this.

Dean can kill himself.

Standing unsteadily, he crawls into the rusty old tub. He yanks off his over-shirt and tosses it to the floor. Holding the glass over his left wrist, he hesitates for a moment, afraid he won’t be able to get the job done. Years of triaging family injuries comes into play, and he remembers that there’s a bigger blood vessel above the wrist that will release more blood faster, so he aims for that, and jabs the shard into his arm, and drags it upward, making a jagged cut. He’s instantly rewarded with a thick gush of bright, red blood, and he watches, fascinated, for a moment, before quickly doing the same to his right arm.

It only takes a minute, and he’s feeling very dizzy, watching his blood leave his body in shocking quantities, and he hears noises from elsewhere in the cabin.

Sam’s home, but Dean doesn’t care, he’s barely conscious now, and the last thing he sees as his vision fades and the world goes black is Sam.

And he’s furious. Furious, red faced, angry Sam.

Dean loses consciousness with a smile on his lips.


	16. Chapter 16

 

The morning after the boys leave, Bobby has a house full of hunters, all here to help Dean. Some are here because Dean means something to them, has helped them at various times in their lives, or has just gotten to know them. Some are here out of respect for John Winchester, who made as many enemies as he did friends, but no one in the room will deny the man was one of the best. Some come for Bobby, a longtime friend and mentor to many hunters, and most of them would jump at just a word from him.

Whatever the reason for their presence, Bobby is grateful. He knows time is short, that Dean can’t hold on forever. Either Sam will kill Dean, or the boy will take the job on himself.

Ellen’s next to him, having falling into the role of second-in-command naturally. Jo sits in a chair next to her mom, thumbing through books, looking for anything about Crossroads Deals. Rufus is nearby, sharpening knives, cleaning guns, catching up with other hunters he hasn’t seen in years.

Bobby’s living room resembles a war room, and that’s basically what it is. He’s warned them all, Sam is powerful, and it’s going to take all of them to get Dean away from him.

Missouri Mosley stands near a map spread over Bobby’s table, her eyes closed, concentrating. Another friend of Bobby’s, Pamela Barnes, is also concentrating over the map. The two of them have narrowed it down to Colorado, now they are trying to home in on the city.

Sam is powerful, and he’s using his powers to mask his and Dean’s location. It’s taken both of these powerful ladies hours just to bring it down to the state level.

“Is there even going to be anything left of Dean to rescue?” Ellen asked Bobby quietly. It’s a good question, one that Bobby’s been asking himself since they left.

“If there’s even a spark of Dean left…we all owe him that much. He’d do this for any of us.” Ellen nods her agreement, as Jo does the same. Bobby raises his voice and addresses the room.

“I ain’t gonna lie. Some of you are gonna get hurt, possibly die. The thing wearing Sam’s skin is powerful, has Dean completely in his thrall, and it’s gonna take a lot to get Dean away from him. Let me make it clear, those of you who’ve met the boys, the sweet kid you remember as Sam Winchester ain’t there anymore. That boy died at Cold Oak. You can’t hesitate. You get a shot, you take it.”

“Bobby,” Pamela interrupts, she and Missouri both have a finger on the map. “They’re in Durango. On the outskirts, but there just the same.”

“You get going now, Bobby Singer, and Pamela and I will have a solid location for you by the time you get there.” Missouri grabs another map book, this one with detailed maps of Colorado, and she and Pamela bend over it, closing their eyes and returning to work.

“Well that’s it, then. Saddle up!”


	17. Chapter 17

It’s warm. Comfortable. It smells like fresh air, like the woods after a soft rain. The surface underneath is soft. It’s wonderful. He hasn’t felt this wonderful in months.

He can almost smell the sunshine on his face.

Dean opens his eyes, and all he can see is green, a beautiful canopy of sun-dappled leaves overhead. He’s lying on the softest mattress he’s ever felt, in a beautiful wooded grove, and it’s just so…perfect.

Rolling to his side, he sees Sam, and there’s a warm smile on his little brother’s face, and Dean’s heart swells when he realizes this is _Sam_. His Sam. _Sammy_.

He’s dressed in a white tee, and the softest worn blue jeans, sitting on the edge of the bed like he has all the time in the world, like he’s just been waiting for Dean to come to him.

“Hi, Dean,” he says softly, his hazel eyes sparkling in the sunlight. Sam’s skin is tan, he’s practically glowing, and Dean is so happy, _joyful_ for the first time in probably forever. Sam reaches out and gently runs a hand down Dean’s face, and lays a gentle kiss on his forehead. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Sammy. So much…you have no idea…” Dean’s voice breaks, and tears roll down his cheeks. Sam smiles, and wipes them away with his thumbs. The touch is so different, so much more loving than anything Dean’s felt in months, and he finds himself leaning into it, longing for more contact with Sam.

Wrapping strong arms around him, Sam pulls Dean in close and just holds him, and they stay like that for a while. Time has no meaning here, it’s just warmth and comfort, and sunshine, and _Sam_ , and Dean feels the agony of the last year slipping away from him.

He thinks he might be hungry, and has to laugh when a tray of food suddenly appears on the bed.

“Is this heaven?” he asks.

“Not quite. It’s like an in-between place.” Dean contemplates this as he picks up a lush strawberry. It tastes better than anything he’s ever eaten before. Everything here is heightened; every pleasure is brighter and just…more.

“So I’m not dead?” he asked through a mouthful of food, and Sammy chuckles at this, wiping a drop of berry juice off Dean’s chin with his thumb. If that isn’t a clue right there, in the real world, Dean would be uncomfortable with the touchy feely-ness. Here, it’s just right, it’s perfect.

“No, you aren’t. And he’ll heal you, and bring you back.” Dean knows that should upset him, the mention of OtherSam, but it doesn’t.

“I’m not going back,” Dean states firmly. “No way.” Sam sighs and shifts on the bed, and sits Dean up, so he can make eye contact. There’s sadness in his eyes, and Dean knows, whatever comes next, he isn’t going to like it.

“We have no right to ask you to go back,” Sam says quietly, “after everything you’ve sacrificed, after everything you’ve given up, this is the last thing anyone wants to ask of you. If ever there was a man who’s earned his peace, earned his rest, it’s you, Dean. Still…” he breaks off, and runs a hand through his hair in a gesture that is just so _Sam_ , Dean smiles.

“But we need to send you back, Dean. He has to be stopped. And you, you’re the only one who can do it. I’m sorry.”


	18. Chapter 18

“I don’t want to go back.”

“I know.”

Dean’s in tears again, and it’s pissing him off. He should be happy, he’s here in this beautiful place, with the beautiful food, and his beautiful baby brother sitting next to him. But he’s crying. Because Sam says he has to go back. Back to the ugliness that is his life now.

“I can’t stop him. What’s the point? Why can’t I stay with you?” Dean knows he sounds like a petulant three year old, but he doesn’t care.

“You can stop him. When we send you back, he’ll be weak. It will have taken everything he has to keep you alive, and maintain the wards on the cabin. It’s an opportunity. You get your hands on a weapon, and you end it.” Sam’s face is determined, full of confidence, his absolute surety that Dean can handle the task is written all over his face.

“And when he hits me with the mind whammy? Then what?”

“You resist. Push back.” Dean looks at Sam incredulously.

“Right. Cause that’s worked well so far.” Dean’s pissed, and he slides off the bed, and storms away from Sam, following a small path away from the bed. It curves, and heads slightly downhill, and Dean finds himself at the edge of a breathtaking lake, surround by mountains, riots of colorful flowers blooming everywhere.

The mountains are snow-capped, and are reflected in the water, and Dean thinks it’s probably the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

There’s a crunch behind him, and Sam’s hands land gently on Dean’s shoulders.

“Dean. If you don’t go back, he’ll kill everyone. Bobby, Ellen, Jo. Everyone we know and love will die.”

“And come to a place like this? How is that bad thing?” Sam sighs, and lets his hands drop.

“I’m trapped here, Dean. I can’t go forward, and I can’t go back and I need you to set me free. The Sam that’s back there? He’s all the bad things about me. He’s the me that would have been if I’d let my powers loose. And as long as he’s alive, I’m trapped here.”

Dean looks around, and huffs.

“So? It’s beautiful, food comes when you want it, it’s warm and safe and pretty…”

“You think I see what you’re seeing? Dean, I made this. I made the food come. This is all my imagination. There’s nothing really here.” Dean looks at Sam, a “yeah, right” smirk on his face, and Sam sighs. Sam closes his eyes, and furrows his brow, and Dean feels a buzz in the air.

The mountains shake, and vanish silently, followed by the flowers, and the pond and the sunlight. When it’s all over, they’re standing in a cavernous space, full of...nothing.

“This is what I see, Dean, this is what every day is for me.” Dean’s eyes fill with tears, and his heart breaks all over again. “Believe me; I didn’t want to show you this. But I need your help. Please, Dean, please…” Sam’s voice breaks, and now he’s crying too.

Dean reaches out for Sam, and they stand in the emptiness, wrapped in each other’s arms, crying as they spend this last moment with each other.

“It’s ok, Sammy, it’s ok,” Dean soothes, “I’ll go back. I’ll fix this. I promise.” They hold each other a little longer, and Sam eventually calms. “You’re not coming back either way, are you?”

“No, I’m not Dean. You have to promise me. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, that you’ll move on, live your life. Please.”

“I will, Sam, I promise.” Sam looks doubtful, and Dean makes eye contact. “I. Mean. It,” he says again, and Sam smiles.

“Ok then. Time to go.” He gives Dean one last hug, then touches his brother’s forehead. “Goodbye, big brother.”

The darkness rushes up fast and swallows him, and Dean knows no more.


	19. Chapter 19

Dean’s eyes flutter open, and he feels a rough surface underneath. He’s confused, not sure where he is, but a slight movement to his right reveals a tattered curtain flapping in the breeze, and he realizes he’s back in the ramshackle cabin.

It’s time. Time to stand up to this evil version of his brother. Still Sam, but not. The best parts of Sammy wait on the other side of the veil, waiting to be released into whatever comes next.

Dean promised. And he won’t let Sammy down.

Slowly rolling onto his side, Dean discovers he’s lying on the floor, just outside the bathroom. There’s blood everywhere, but no sign of Sam.

Sensing an opportunity, Dean yanks himself to his feet by gripping the bathroom door frame. He steadies, then works his way out into the living room. There’s still no sign of Sam.

He studies the marks on his wrists, where he’d made the cuts. They are fused back together, just the faintest white lines of scar tissue. Through the front windows of the cabin, Dean can see the Impala.

Miraculously, the keys are lying on a table near the door. Dean darts across the living room, and has the keys in his hand, when an invisible force slams his body into the wall.

Sam stalks into the room from the kitchen, but he’s pale and panting, and Dean can feel the power holding him against the wall waver. Dean puts all of his mental energies into pushing that power off, and both him and Sam are surprised when does it.

“No! No more. Never again. I’m done, you son of a bitch!” Dean glares defiantly at Sam. He feels another weak wave of power wash over him, but it does nothing more than hold him in place for a moment. Dean grins. “Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t get it up anymore?”

“You’re mine, Dean. You walk out that door, I will hunt you down, and I will kill everyone and everything that gets in the way.”

“Good luck with that.” Dean darts out the front door, heading straight for the Impala. He sinks the key into the trunk lock, praying all the while that the weapons are still in there.

The trunk pops, and the first thing he sees is his beloved Colt 1911, so he yanks it from the box, and checks to see if it’s loaded.

It is.

Quickly chambering a round, Dean turns back to the cabin just as Sam comes out the front door.

“Put it down, Dean.”

Dean hears the words, and feels them in his head, and the pain is unreal. He shakes his head to clear it, pushing Sam out.

Sam slams back into Dean’s head with everything he has, _DROP THE GUN, DEAN,_ and Dean screams in agony. He’s succumbing, trying desperately not too, but quickly losing the fight.

Falling to his knees, Dean doubles over in pain, the gun slipping from his hands. He cradles his head in both hands.

“Sammy….” he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” His vision is failing, and he’s losing the fight.

_Push him out, Dean, I know you can do it._

The words ground him, he hears Sammy’s voice in his head, and it’s like a cool rain compared to the fiery heat of Sam’s anger.

Dean pushes back. He takes everything he has and pushes back into Sam, driving him out of his head with the force of his Sammy’s love. He isolates every strand of Sam’s anger, forcing it into a ball and _shoves_.

Sam shrieks, and Dean opens his eyes. Sam’s nose is bleeding, he’s on his knees, holding his head in his hands. He looks at Dean in shock, as Dean pulls himself to his feet. He reaches down for the Colt, flicks the safety off, and aims right between Sam’s eyes.

Sam laughs.

“You won’t. You aren’t strong enough.”

“You’re not my Sam. You aren’t.” Sam laughs again.

“I’m enough of him that you’re doubting yourself. C’mon, Dean, who exactly do you think you’re fooling here? You can’t and you won’t pull that trigger.”

“I love you, Sammy. Goodbye little brother.”

Dean pulls the trigger.


	20. Chapter 20

They arrive in Durango, and move in on the cabin.

Deacon and Joshua move out first, to do recon, and Bobby and the others hang back. They wait, about half a mile away, then Joshua sends a text.

_Quiet. Car here, no sign of boys._

_k. moving in._

Bobby signals to the others, and they move in as silently as possible. Just as Bobby moves into eye sight of the Impala, Dean comes flying out of the cabin, and runs for his car.

He yanks open the trunk, and gets his hand on a gun, just in time for Sam to come out. Then Dean is on the ground screaming, Rufus is lining up a shot with a sniper rifle, and they are all running forward, danger forgotten at the sight of Dean on his knees, doubled over in pain.

The air ripples with Sam’s power, but something changes, they can all feel it, and suddenly Sam’s on the ground screaming in pain. Dean hauls himself back to his feet, gun in hand. Rufus steps forward, but Bobby raises his hand.

“Wait.”

Dean flicks the safety off, and aims the gun right between Sam’s eyes.

Sam laughs.

“You won’t. You aren’t strong enough.”

“You’re not my Sam. You aren’t.” Sam laughs again.

“I’m enough of him that you’re doubting yourself. C’mon, Dean, who exactly do you think you’re fooling here? You can’t and you won’t pull that trigger.”

“I love you, Sammy. Goodbye, little brother.”

Dean pulls the trigger.

The ghost of his last smirk on his lips, Sam’s arms fly out as his body falls backwards, an ugly red hole between his eyes. Dean lets his arm fall, the gun dangling at his side. Bobby all but runs to him.

“Dean?” Dean’s staring at Sam, and Bobby waits for him to say something.

“Well that’s done.” Dean says carelessly. “Good times.” Bobby reaches out to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“You ok, kiddo?”

“Fine! Just peachy. Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, I’ve only spent the last year living with a guy who wasn’t really my brother and had no issue raping me and beating the shit out of me every day, but you know, I’m great!” Dean turns and gives Bobby his best cocky grin, but as Bobby watches, Dean’s face crumbles, and he sinks to his knees.

“Oh god!” he cries, and Bobby goes down with him, and as the first sob wrenches out of Dean’s throat, Bobby’s own eyes fill, and he holds him as Dean just breaks and _wails_ and everyone around him can _feel_ the depth of his agony.

Ellen is there, and also wraps her arms around Dean, and they both hold him until he settles down, the sobs slowly stopping.

Dean raises his head, bloodshot eyes meeting Bobby’s, and the pain in that gaze is so intense it takes Bobby’s breath away. He tightens his hold on him, and Dean melts into his embrace, his body still trembling.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Bobby says to Ellen, who nods, and together, they get Dean on his feet and into the Impala. The others will take care of the body, and the cleanup, and Jo slides into the backseat to sit with Dean.

Bobby takes one long last look at Sam. He sighs, remembering the sweet little kid who used to chase his big brother around his salvage yard. This wasn’t him, but his face is so peaceful now, despite the gunshot wound, that he can’t help but think about the boy they lost at Cold Oak, and he wipes a stray tear from his grizzled cheek and sighs.

“Goodbye, boy.”


	21. Chapter 21

It’s not long after they burn Sam’s body that Bobby and Ellen figure out how sick Dean is. Months of not properly eating, followed by vomiting up most of the little he was getting down, has taken its toll, and they find themselves with a very ill, very delirious Dean who spends most of the time drifting in a haze of pain, brokenly crying out for Sam.

They end up having to put him in the hospital, which was probably the worst thing they could have done, because the damage is alarming, what with the scars from the suicide attempt, the regular beatings, and the… _tearing_.

Bobby ends up sneaking him out when he’s stable enough to be moved.

He hires a private nurse, and she comes once a day to help out.

But what Dean really needs is someone to be with him all the time, to hold his hand and tell him things are going to be fine.

He needs Sam.

Jo’s there all the time, finding work at a bar in town. She says it’s because she wants to be near her mom, who’s all but moved in with Bobby to assist with Dean’s care, but Jo’s fooling no one. She makes it her personal mission to be Dean’s main caregiver.

Bobby has his doubts at first, Jo’s like a female version of Dean to begin with, and he’s concerned her equally sarcastic and acerbic wit won’t do him any good.

In the end, it’s exactly what he needs.

Jo’s a bully. She bullies Dean out of bed, she bullies him into the shower, she bullies food down his throat. And instead of it upsetting Dean, it’s working.

She convinces Bobby to put a TV and DVD player in Dean’s room, and starts hitting the local stores to find movies she thinks he’ll like.

Die Hard is the first to show up, followed by The Bourne Identity, Fight Club, and Ocean’s Eleven.

Dean’s not terribly responsive, he tolerates Jo, but he never smiles, he’s still having terrible nightmares, and Jo’s starting to wonder if anyone will ever be able to snap him out of it.

In true, stubborn Dean Winchester fashion, he does it himself.

About four months after they burned Sam, Jo and Bobby are in the kitchen when they hear the sound of laughter coming from Dean’s room.

Rushing down the hall, Jo is surprised when she sees some guy on the TV with a crazy looking green puppet with purple hair. He’s also holding what looks like a jalapeno wearing a sombrero…on a stick?

Dean is laughing so hard, he has tears streaming from his eyes, and when he turns to see Jo, he throws her the sexiest grin she’s seen in months.

She’s pretty sure, when asked later, that’s the exact moment she went from infatuation to in-love with Dean Winchester.

…

On a sunny day in May, just a few days after what would have been Sam’s twenty-eighth birthday, Joanna Beth Harvelle becomes Joanna Beth Winchester in a quiet ceremony officiated by non-other than Rufus Turner himself, who’s insisting on performing a Jewish ceremony, complete with yarmulkes on all the men’s heads, including Dean, who bitched royally when he found out he’d need a girly bobby pin to hold it on.

Dean’s not complaining too loudly, as he smiles down at Jo, in her sweet little white dress, standing next to him under the Huppah built at the base of the massive oak where Dean and Bobby had made a small memorial to Sam.

It’s simple, and beautiful, and it’s everything.

As the sunlight shines through the trees, Dean and Jo are pronounced husband and wife, and as Dean turns, he swears he can see them, his mom and dad, and Sam, standing with the others, smiles on their faces.


	22. Chapter 22

Someone was nudging him in the back, and they damn well better be serious about waking him up, because it was seven a.m. on a Saturday morning, and he’d damn well earned the right to sleep in after having worked all week.

Rolling over, Dean saw right away the source of the nudging, and he smiled as he ran a hand over Jo’s swollen belly, realizing that his unborn daughter had been the one insisting he get up, kicking his spine while he lay with Jo spooned against his back, already giving her Dad a run for the money.

Jo opened one eye and grinned at Dean, as there was a thud, and the sound of a toilet lid slamming shut, followed the sound of little feet running down the hall towards their room.

“We’re about to be invaded,” she said, as their door flew open and their sons came running into the room.

Six year old Sammy landed on the bed first, hazel eyes sparkling as he grinned out from under his mop of dark hair.

“Daddy!! It’s Saturday! It’s pancake day! I’m hungry! Make pancakes!” Dean laughed and tickled the kid making him squeal with laughter.

Two year old Will needed a little help climbing up, and Dean reached down and scooped him up with his arm, then deposited him on top of Sammy, making the older boy squeal a little more.

Will grinned at his parents, stuck his thumb in his mouth and said “pa-cake!”

“One track minds in here, guess I better get busy!” Dean grinned, and scooped Will up in his arms, running a hand through the boy’s sandy hair. “Who’s helping?”

“Me! Me! Me!” Sammy shrieked, and jumped off the bed, running full tilt for the kitchen.

“That kid doesn’t do anything half-assed.” Jo laughed.

“Guess I better keep him from full blown kitchen destruction!” Dean sat Will back on the bed, and leaned down to kiss Jo. “Love ya, gorgeous.”

“Love you too.”

“I got the eggs!!” Sammy yelled from the doorway, holding the container out, which he then promptly dropped, eggs going everywhere. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Just another day in paradise!” he laughed, and went to clean up the mess.

…

Later, as they sat on the porch swing, Jo’s feet tucked into his lap, Dean sat back and surveyed his little kingdom. Bobby had signed over 50% of the rights to the land and the salvage yard as a wedding gift, and Dean and Jo had built a little house back near the tree they got married under. Dean ran the yard now that Bobby had retired to spend more time with his new wife, Ellen!

Dean didn’t hunt much anymore, as he really hated leaving home, and Jo stayed at home with the kids. The yard provided a decent income, and Dean restored classic cars as well, making quite a name for himself.

He’d built a garage next to their house, and the Impala sat inside, gorgeous and perfect as ever.

Four days before their second anniversary, Samuel John was born, named for his uncle and his grandfather, and having the nerve to be a week early and land exactly on what would have been Sam’s thirtieth birthday. Now, at six, he looked just like his uncle, the resemblance so strong, it seriously made Dean wonder if his oldest wasn’t the reincarnation of his baby brother.

Then if that wasn’t weird enough, William Robert, named for Jo’s dad and Bobby, of course, popped up on his due date, which just happened to be Dean’s birthday. Will at least looked like Jo.

And now, in the next few weeks, right after Sammy’s seventh birthday, Mary Ellen would be born in late May. Dean chuckled to himself, and thought about how lazy he and Jo were that they couldn’t even get their own names for their kids.

His eyes traveled out to the yard, where Sammy was telling Will exactly the right way to slay a dragon.

“Why?” Will asked.

“Because it’s what we do! Saving people, hunting things, the family business!” Dean chuckled as the boys ran off to the swing set. He wondered where Sammy had picked that one up.

“You’re so cute when you laugh.”

“You’re cute all the time.” Dean grinned at Jo, and she grinned back.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He’d never dared to dream he’d be this happy. He looked up at the sky, and thought of Sam, and whispered softly,

“Thanks, Sammy.”

 


End file.
